


letter i hope remains unsent

by exyjunkies



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Love Letters, M/M, Moving On, idk it counts as a love letter i guess, what is this?? even i don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:09:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exyjunkies/pseuds/exyjunkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Adam doesn’t think he’ll be the last to catch Ronan's eye. A letter he writes to the next one — if there is a next one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	letter i hope remains unsent

To whoever loves him next, know this:

Know what to expect from his rough edges and his sharp tongue; every word that comes from his mouth is lucky if it isn’t a swear word. Constantly falling from his lips are the ashes of a blue-base anger — long gone, never forgotten.

Know enough to remember that his heart is an ever-present raging storm cloud against the thrumming darkness, raining and thunder-ridden and he will feel but not  _really_ , because his weather won’t be loud enough for you to notice. But  _damn_ , it won’t stop being heart-wrenchingly beautiful, the little hints of him caring about you. He needs someone to need him; don’t fear being that possibility for him. Let him know about the thank you that wraps itself around your throat.

Know that his dreams are as unpredictable as he is. His mind is a wild realm of beauty and madness, and he can’t always control what he takes out of them. Wake up to the worst part of him tightly gripped in his hands and, slowly, bring him back to you. (some mornings are harder than others; bear most of them for him.)

Kiss him slow on these mornings, the sun’s face curiously peeking through the curtains, the clock softly ticking away an endless moment. When his eyes flutter open, when he  _remembers_ , smile him a golden morning.

Know how to navigate the continent of him, how to map out the many criss-crossing routes across his body. There are just— just  _so many ways_ , so many places to be. He is a sight all his own. Do not be hurried; all the time in the world is at your disposal. Trace the borders of his tattoo with exploring fingers, an attentive tongue. Mouth new landmarks where his neck meets his shoulder, bite a pointed sign on his left collarbone. Place your hands firmly onto his hipbones as you go down on him because  _god_ , will you lose yourself.

Know his favorite flavor at the gelato place: a double scoop hazelnut. And, if you don’t want a shoulder colder than the ice cream, do not get him something with fruit.

(Of course, if you feed him your ice cream, and it just happens to have fruit, he won’t complain.)

Know that he has his own way of knowing, no matter how hard you try to keep your secrets. His hand on your arm can pick up the faintest of tremors. The look in your eyes you try to keep blank will mean something to him. He is a being kept together by his own complications. A soul as intricate as his would see through your unknowable self.

Know, as well as you know him, every inch of his black elegant car, the engine’s hum, the radio’s repetitive Irish jigs. It operates through his say and his say only, the headlights slicing through the night during your midnight drives. He’ll take you anywhere, holding your hand. Interlace your fingers in his, and don’t let go; there are only so many moments like this.

Know that his lack of drive in academics does not mean he is in need of motivation, does not mean he doesn’t care about his future. He’s actually very much set on his path already, the years ahead of him dream-filled free-flowing rivers. A degree just wasn’t necessary to keep him afloat.

He will support whatever your wishes are, though. If there are twinkling stars in your eyes each time you read, he’ll bring you to bookstores for the constellations. If you want to cross oceans and step over boundaries, he’ll close his eyes and dream you up a world, all yours to fill, all yours to make easy work of.

Know the impulses fully rooted into his fists, how the knuckles whiten and the muscles tighten when something’s bothering him. Anger is almost all he knows. The hard shell is almost as much for you as much as it is for him.

In these icy moments, don’t be afraid of him. Instead, take his fist in your hands and make sure his thumb is outside his hand (he knows this, but in the heat of the moment, being the idiot he is, he’ll forget). Allow him one punch, through the weakest surface possible. If you’re lucky, you can get him to soften up and stand down instead, his hand pliant and loosened on yours.

Know the inner workings of his music, how each terribly-composed melody holds a place in his heart. The electronic pulse of a song through his headphones coincides with the beat of his heart.

Know that he’s lost enough to last a lifetime. When he stares off into space, jaw clenched, eyebrows knitted, he is not trying to forget, but he’s making it a point to remember; he needs to remember the heaviness, the impact of a loss so great. He does this so that he’s more prepared for the next one that leaves him.

Know that he will unleash hell on those who try to ruin you. The fire lining his bloodstream, the rush of the electricity through his veins, the atmospheric shift as his feet are parted; he is a force of nature. Those that so much as harm a hair on you will end up as bodies piled up on the sidewalk.

Know that him being multilingual doesn’t mean he knows what to say all the time. His thoughts are scattered precious artifacts, each one more difficult to extract. After all, his life is seen through the eyes of a human and the eyes of a dreamer.

In fact, you’ll probably end up saying  _I love you_  first. Even if he’s loved you for longer, he’s definitely the type to pine and take the words to his grave.

Once you figure it all out,  _please_ , do everyone a favor and just tell him. Know that you’re only making the mistake bigger each second you keep it in. Love him loud, unrelenting, the words a clumsy yet honest confession spilling past your tongue like a fountain.

Lastly, know this: he is magic incarnate, and the world can so much as collapse at the start of his dream. _He’d end this goddamn planet for you._ Be careful with him, for he can explode; he is everything beautiful and dark and tragic and mysterious as your imagination can go— maybe even more.

When I come up in conversation, tell him I’m a thing of the past, a relic buried deep underground. Reminders are all around him like air; making him forget isn’t an option, so keep his mind far from me. Whatever the reason may have been for our parting, it must’ve been for the best.

(From the start, he never stopped wanting that for the both of us, I suppose.)

I’m gone now, and wherever I am, I’m sure it still hurts. He was the dreamer, and I was the god of his dream space. I was a part of the twisted magic; I’ll never stop wishing for that back.

But he has you now,  _he has you_ , and I—  _I hope you are enough_. Stay with him. He needs you. Never leave.  _Don’t let go_. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also [on tumblr](http://exyjunkies.tumblr.com)!


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